My Son
by Claire57
Summary: With the Taelons gone at last, former agent Ronald Sandoval visits his doctor and receives some devastating news.


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My Son

By Claire Boston

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Spoilers: Occurs several months after "Point of No Return".

Disclaimer: Not my characters. Will return after use, but no guarantee as to condition.

Rating: PG

Summary: With the Taelons gone at last, former agent Ronald Sandoval visits his doctor and receives some devastating news. 

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He stared at Dr. Curzon in shock, for the moment simply beyond words. After everything that had happened, after managing to defy the odds, survive the worst the Taelons and the ANA could throw at him, and then this… It couldn't be happening. He couldn't be dying, not again. Fate couldn't be that cruel.

She'd said he was cured, that the disease was in full remission. But the blonde doctor's steady gaze said that she was telling the truth.

"Run the tests again." Dr. Curzon started to speak, probably to deny. "Please." His tone, and the plea unspoken in it, stopped whatever she was going to say. She nodded wordlessly.

***************

An hour later, he was seated once again in her office, hearing her words through a haze of numbness.

"There's no mistake, Ron. The disease has recurred."

"But how? Once the genetic defect is repaired, there should be nothing to _cause_ it to recur! It makes no _sense_!" 

She picked up a data chip from her desk, obviously more comfortable looking at the chip in her hand that at his face. "The best that I can determine is that it has something to do with your CVI." She looked up at him finally and continued. "As you know, the CVI imparts some additional benefits to the host besides enhanced memory and cognitive abilities. It also serves to maintain the host in an optimal state of health, and it does that by ensuring that the host's immune system responds rapidly to all invasions by any microorganisms, bacteria, viruses, even prions."

"Apparently, it does that by stimulating the host's immune system to produce custom antibodies to any invading pathogens, much more rapidly and at an earlier stage in the infection than the body's natural immune response. It is able to do that, in part, by maintaining a copy of the host's own DNA and RNA, encoded in the CVI."

"My best guess – and I emphasize that this is a _guess_ – is that the CVI detected the changes to your genetic structure when we corrected the disorder, and assumed that this was some kind of attack on your body by an outside agent."

"So the CVI 'repaired' the damage it thought was caused by the genetic treatment?" A small part of his mind was intrigued by yet another, unknown capability of the technology he carried in his head; that was quickly overshadowed by a growing hopelessness and despair.

"We think so. It's the only explanation that fits." 

"But my CVI is barely functioning! I can't control the memory intrusions any more, I can't control a skrill, I can't even remember everything that I read or see any more! How can it still do this?"

"If it were completely nonfunctioning, you'd be dead already." 

He was quiet for a moment. With an effort, he raised his eyes to meet hers. "Then there's nothing you can do to stop it this time." It was more a statement than a question.

"No, not at all." 

At her words, his head jerked up in disbelief. "But you just said…"

"It's possible that we can prevent this by removing the CVI first, then repairing the genetic damage again. There have been no other cases where the repair has failed, but also none of them have had CVIs, either." 

"We can removed it, you know. We now have enough information on how the CVIs work, plus we have developed a modified anti-virus that captures most of the memories embedded in the CVI and transfers them to adjacent regions of the brain, where they're incorporated by the brain's normal memory mechanisms. And the problem with the CVI having taken over some of the autonomic functions, such as heartbeat and respiration, can be overcome by restimulating that area of the brain to regrow, or reactivate, the neural synapses. We can maintain your autonomic functions externally until the brain can resume control itself, usually two to three days."

As his eyes widened in amazement, she explained. "This is something we've been working on for quite a while. But, as long as the Taelons were still here, the ANA didn't want to reveal that we had this technology, for obvious reasons. Now that they're gone, there's no reason not to use it and give all the Taelon Implants back their lives."

An irrational hope began to grow, only to be firmly squashed. "All that's very well, Dr. Curzon. But there's one other little problem." He looked at her directly, willing his voice to be steady and even. "There's still the matter of obtaining the undamaged hemologic factor, to correct the genetic defect." He threaded his fingers together in his lap and studied them intently. "Somehow, my son," his voice paused fractionally as he said that, "found out about my illness before and provided the necessary blood to save my life." He looked up. "But I don't know where he is. I don't even know _who_ he is, and I haven't been able to find him!" All his control couldn't keep his voice from breaking on the final words. He stood up, an almost uncontrolled movement, as if he simply had to _move_. As he ran his hand through his hair, he noticed it was shaking. Then he froze at Dr. Curzon's next words.

"I have the blood." Her words were quiet; as he whirled to stare at her in surprise, she looked away, not meeting his eyes.

"What? How? When did…?" He couldn't seem to get the words out fast enough. A pause, and then, "Who?" Very quietly.

Dr. Curzon took a deep breath. This wasn't going to be pleasant. "I'm not at liberty to say. Wait!" Holding up a hand to stem the flow of words before it began, she looked at him steadily for a moment. "The blood is for you to use as you choose. The conditions are that I tell you nothing about your son," he opened his mouth to speak, but stopped at the change in her tone, "until after the treatments. If, at that time, you still feel that you want answers, then I can tell you, according to my own judgment." She eyed him sternly as he seemed to be repressing a desire to say or do something. "Those are the terms, take it or leave it."

His tone was eager. "When do we begin, Doctor?"

************** 

As he moved up through the gray fog of unconsciousness, he heard the quiet beep of monitors and the slight hum of the diagnostic scanners. 

"You're awake. Good. How are you feeling, Ron?" Dr. Curzon's voice was soft yet professional.

"It worked – again." He frowned as he realized that his voice was weaker than he expected.

"Well, all your vitals are looking good. And there's no sign of the disease – just as expected."

"And my CVI?" He had lost consciousness during the CVI extraction process; not unexpected, he had been told. Having been through it before, he was glad not to remember all of the painful process of a CVI breaking down. Obviously, the procedure had worked and they had been able to persuade his own brain to take control once again of his breathing and heartbeat and other basic body functions. But they had not awakened him before beginning the blood treatment.

Dr. Curzon smiled at him. "Completely gone. Although you may have some holes in your memories, and some of the finer details may be fuzzy or incomplete, we were able to capture and relocate nearly all of the memories encoded in the CVI into adjacent areas of your brain. It may take some time, but you will gradually be able to remember."

"Actually, there are some things that I would just as soon forget." He frowned, then looked up to meet her eyes with an intensity that she found intimidating. Probably those he had interrogated had felt the same. "Now, tell me about my son."

She returned his look steadily. "Later. No, I need to run some tests on your memory recall, your cognitive function, and get some detailed scans of your brain activity while you're awake. Then I want you to get some sleep. Then tomorrow, _if_ you're feeling up to it, and _if_ I think you're sufficiently recovered, then we'll see. Until then, I want you to rest and get your strength back." Her tone brooked no argument. 

With a sigh, he resigned himself to waiting. _One more day. Then I'll know who you are, my son. And then…._

Gently, hardly aware of the transition, he slipped into sleep. With an aching heart, the doctor watched him for a long while before slipping quietly from the room.

**************

But that conversation didn't take place as he had planned. Later that first evening, he had had some kind of seizure. Then, an hour or so later, he had another. When his breathing became erratic, Dr. Curzon had order him to be placed on a ventilator, to help with his breathing while the new connections in his brain continued to become accustomed to their resumed functions. An external heart stimulator monitored his heartbeat and ensured that his heart rate remained steady and even. Although he was awake during part of the next few days, the ventilator tube made it impossible for him to talk, and the buzz of memories that began flowing through his recovering brain kept him distracted and pretty much disconnected from the reality of his hospital room and the medical staff who watched over him.

A week later, Dr. Curzon decided that his respiratory function was sufficiently recovered that she could remove the ventilator and allow him to breathe on his own. She watched as he lay restlessly, his eyes moving under the eyelids and his fingers clenching and unclenching. Although other patients who had had their CVIs removed had experienced some similar difficulties afterwards, none had been this severe or this prolonged. But then, none of them had had a CVI for anywhere near the seven years that Ron had lived with one. He was the longest surviving Implant – now former Implant, she reminded herself – and they were only just beginning to get enough data to begin to understand some of the long-term effects of CVI implantation.

__

And that's one area of research that I'd just as soon see us never needing again. But she knew that wouldn't happen; she knew there were people even now within her own government who explored the possibilities of using this technology on their own people. She hoped that wouldn't happen, but she wasn't naïve enough to pretend it wouldn't.

Again, she turned her eyes on her patient as he moved restlessly. _I wonder what he's dreaming about? No, actually, I don't. It's more likely to be a nightmare. I don't envy him, trying to deal with all of his memories without the emotional filter of a CVI. _For even without a MI, a CVI provided some measure of emotional 'dampening', making a lot of emotions seem distant and dull. Once removed, a former Implant had to learn to deal with the normal intensity of human emotion all over again; add to that the memories of things done under the influence of the Motivational Imperative, things that often went against their basic moral and ethical mores, and it was no wonder that most former Implants required intensive therapy to readjust. A few hadn't been able to, and had ended up requiring institutionalization; a few others had seemed to, and then had stunned their physicians, family and friends by committing suicide.

__

Given the things we've learned that the Taelons had their Implants do, I'm surprised that we've been able to save as many as we have. And the stigma of being a former Implant didn't help. A large majority had requested relocation and new identities, to build a new life away from anyone and anything that reminded them of their former lives. It was still too soon to know if all, or even most, of them would succeed.

She was worried about Ron.

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"Your son has actually been a patient of mine for the last two years, but I didn't know he was your son until recently." She looked away, gazing toward the window rather than looking at her patient. "Over time, we built up a supply of his blood in stasis. He left written instructions for me, authorizing me to use it if you needed it. It was also for emergencies, in case he needed a transfusion himself."

"But why?" His tone was puzzled. 

She looked back at him. "Do you remember when I analyzed the blood from the anonymous donation?" He nodded. "At the time, I found some… anomalies in the sample."

Ron frowned thoughtfully, obviously concentrating to access his memories. "I remember. You said that the sequencer hit some genetic anomalies that it couldn't process. What exactly does that mean?"

She looked at him steadily. Was he really ready for this? She didn't know, but she couldn't stop now, and she doubted he'd let her. She spoke carefully. "The gene sequences the analyzer couldn't process were not…human." She saw him draw in a breath, but he remained silent, his eyes wide and comprehending. "Your son's DNA contained non-human elements, a fairly significant fraction as it turns out."

"So my son…is a …..hybrid?" His words were slow, but not horrified or disgusted as she had feared. She nodded slowly.

"Yes."

"But…," his confusion was evident, "I was involved in the hybridization project. I had access to all the records, including the identities of both the human and the Taelon donors. And I was not a donor." His voice had become more confident as he finished. "That's simply not possible, Doctor. I _know_." She almost saw the shock go through him at her next words.

"Not Taelon. Kimera." 

He stared at her in disbelief, then abruptly stood and moved toward the window, running a hand distractedly through his hair. "Oh, my god," he whispered, as if to himself. "Ha'gel."

"Yes," she confirmed softly, "Ha'gel." 

With a sudden movement, he returned to his chair, sitting on the edge and leaning toward her. "Tell me. Tell me everything you know. Who he is, where he is, what his name is." He looked startled for a moment as a thought occurred. "Who his mother is. I want to know. I _need_ to know. _Please_." 

Now it was her turn to stand and walk to the window. After a long moment, she turned to face him. "This won't be easy for you, Ron. I'm still not completely sure that I'm doing the right thing." She took a deep breath, then continued. "But I did give you my word. And in spite of everything, I think you have a right to know. I just wish you would wait until you are more recovered."

"I've been waiting for more than _two years_, Doctor. I want to find my son." He looked directly into her eyes. "I don't care if he's a hybrid; he's my _son_. That's what matters to me." He couldn't understand her reluctance. He was fine, even if he was still a little weak. But the thought of finally knowing the truth, of finally being able to find his son, was driving him. 

Slowly Dr. Curzon returned to her seat, sitting forward and reaching to take Ron's hands in hers. He looked startled; although she frequently touched him to examine him, she wasn't one for hand-holding or hugging and touching with her patients. 

She could do this; but she didn't want to. "Your son was born a little over three years ago. His gestation took about nine hours, and after he was born, he grew into his adult form in roughly a half an hour." His eyes were wide with amazement, but he didn't speak. She went on, taking a deep breath. "His mother was Siobhan Beckett."

"Siobhan! Oh, god," he breathed the words. "She said we were 'destined to come together'. I guess she was right all along. But why didn't she tell me?" There was hurt and pain in his voice.

"She didn't remember." At his look, she continued. "After Ha'gel mated with her using your form, she collapsed into unconsciousness. As Ha'gel fought with Boone, Lili Marquette got her out of the fight and took her to Resistance headquarters, where she had the baby." She took another breath and continued to meet his gaze. He wouldn't like this part. "Afterwards, they altered her CVI to remove her memories of the Resistance and of the baby. They programmed her CVI to overload and kill her if her memories ever returned. And several months later, that's exactly what happened."

His eyes were wide with horror. "Oh, my g…." His pain was obvious, and so was the anger beginning to shine in his eyes. "Doors! That bastard! That heartless son-of-a-**bitch**! God, I wish he were still alive so I could kill him slowly, with my bare hands!" 

"You loved her, didn't you?" Her words were soft, but were enough to cause the worst of the anger to drain away. He nodded tiredly.

"Yes, I loved her. And I never got to tell her." The pain in his voice was raw. "God, how could he…?"

"People on both sides did a lot that they shouldn't have."

"What about my son? Where is he, who is he, when can I see him?" As she just looked at him, struggling to find the words, his voice turned pleading. "Please, Doctor Curzon, just tell me." He inched forward on the chair, leaning toward her as if to draw the words from her. "In the last days, before everything started to fall apart, I held onto one thing: somewhere, I had a son, and I needed to find a way to stop the Taelons so he could have a world to grow up in, safe and free from their domination. Even after it all started crumbling, after Dee Dee turned up alive and seeking vengeance, after the ANA sent me back to Zo'or and everyone on the planet seemed to be out for my blood, the one thing I had to hold onto was the thought of my son. Somewhere, my son was depending on me to keep him safe. I didn't know whether he knew about me or not, but it didn't matter. It was my responsibility to make the world safe for him to grow up in, a world without the Taelons and the horrors they had unleashed on our world!" His passionate words came in a rush, as if he had gone over them in his mind many times. His next words were quieter. "My son gave me a second chance at life, by providing the blood I needed. I owed it to him to stop the Taelons, even if it cost me that life!"

"Please, Dr. Curzon, tell me. WHO IS MY SON?"

Slowly she spoke the next words. "He couldn't use his real name. He didn't exist in any records or databases, and all his data was faked to protect him. If the Taelons had known the truth of who he was, they would have killed him the same as they killed Ha'gel. He knew that. He lived with it every day." 

"Before he was born, Siobhan said that he was to be named for her grandfather. His real name, the name on his birth certificate, is Liam Beckett." He froze at her words; she could see the beginnings of realization in his eyes.

"You knew him as Major Liam Kincaid."

The words hit him with all the force of a hammer's blow. His mouth moved, but no sounds came out. The grip on her hands tightened unbearably, but she continued to stare into his eyes. At last, he pulled his hands away and closed his eyes. His wail of anguish tore at her heart.

All the moments came together in his mind. He didn't need a CVI for this; they were burned into his memory past all forgetting. _The look on his face as they shook hands at Boone's funeral. The grieving disbelief as he opened the body bag to gaze on the face of Lili Marquette. The look in his eyes as they stared into his, just before he fired his skrill. The look of terror in the eyes that he couldn't quite hide, as the straps of the table bit into his wrists and ankles. The anguished screams as his own hand sent the streams of energy arching through the lean body. The surprised look in the green eyes as he turned to see the handgun pointed at his face. The anguished face turned up toward his, as he cradled the body of Siobhan Beckett. And lastly, the pictures of the solemn memorial service, paying tribute to the fallen leader of the Resistance, who had been revealed at last._

"NOOOOooooo! Oh, god, no!"The sound of his own voice followed him down into madness.

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END


End file.
